HEADING ACROSS THE CAMARGUE

What a difference a day makes. Just 24 hours. The weather was much improved. Our spirits were lifted and we spent a wonderful day crossing the Camargue with a big tail win most of the way – so much so that we had sped along 90 kms by lunch and Bridget was suggesting we might make it to Marseille and our first couch surfing experience by the end of the day. That proved to be a little ambitious and by the time we rolled into a camp site 40kms short of Marseille we were yet again quite exhausted but we still had a stunning day of contrasts both in terms of scenery but also roads and traffic in a kind of "oh my god I just have to get off this lorry infested highway as soon as possible or its very likely one of them might decide to light a cigarette or phone his mate and squash me and my bike to oblivion and not even realise" kind of way. I can say this now as I am safe in Sofia and no harm was done but for about 20 kms the other side of the Rhone in what appeared to be an industrialised waste land we cycled for our lives desperate to find some quieter smaller roads on which we might feel safe.

We did make it through to a quiet little camp site about 40 km short of Marseille and were so tired it was simply a case of tent up, cup-a-soup on and bed. Then the next day we ran the gauntlet through Marseille itself. The road into the city soon turns from a main road into a motorway and we were forced off it in to the local suburbs where unless you know the local names of places or have an a-z its simply a case of following your nose and hoping you are heading in roughly the right direction until you find a road sign that actually refers to anything on your map. I can see why some tourers carry a small bubble compass for getting through cities - we can't seem to find one so we tend now to head straight for a newsagent to buy an a city map.

I freely admit I was pretty useless in Marseille, an angry man who has he became more and more angry also became more and more useless and ineffective. Bridget on the other hand was calm assurance personified and nimbly and ably guided us through the city centre with what seems in hindsight unprecedented ease. It didn't seem like it at the time as I ranted and raved about the lack of useful road signs and signs with street names on them but we probably sped through more quickly than my rage deserved. After a little prompting from a couple of shop keepers and some old guys drinking coffee outside a tabac we made it quite easily on to the road which would take us to Gemenos where Simon and Marion lived. They were letting us stay with them for the night - our first experience of "couch surfing" where like minded travellers help each other out buy offering free beds for the night. Their house is half way up a hill in a lovely location just outside the town. It was a stunning location and an unbelievable start to joining the couch surfing experience. I had expected axe murderers and weirdos and instead we found the most generous, warm hearted and kind people we could have ever hoped for.

Simon, Marion and Bridget

Simon and Marion weren't there when we arrived but their cleaner/ironing lady (their Nanu I think Marion called her) was and though she spoke not a word of English my limited French was enough to secure some cold drinks, a shower and our room for the night.

Relaxing at Simon and Marion's.

Simon arrived a little later and insisted he whisk us off into Marseille where he had some business to attend to.

Maria del Mare, Marseille

We had a lovely couple of hours in Marseille and then after a brief scare waiting longer than planned for Simon to meet us again (I had visions of being left stranded in the city in the middle of the night never to see Simon or our bikes and gear again - the reality of course was his meeting had over run and his phone was out of battery) and after a woman in the nearby laundrette proved extremely kind and helpful, even trying to ring Simon for us and warning us that Marseille was not a great place to be stuck late and night with nowhere to go, we went for meal with Simon Marion and two of their friends.

We had planned to stay just the one night but Simon and Marion insisted that we must stay two nights and spend a day in Aix en Provence. It was well worth it. It is a stunning town and although we didn’t do much other than wander around we really liked the place. That night we were left to our own devices and cooked ourselves a lovely meal making the most of a real kitchen. We were early to bed and off on our way again this time to a friend’s place near to St Tropez.

The ride was again stunning and we followed initially and inland route through the hills. Towards the end of the day we took a road heading towards the coast and unanimously (not hard I know when there’s only two of you) cycled our favourite road of the journey so far. It was a long and steep but steady road up to a ridge (nearly 10 km I think) and then a long flat road along the ridge with beautiful views of the French coast and the Med in front of you. The light was perfect as it was heading towards evening and was all rounded off with a great down hill to the coast road. Then it was a matter of cycling along the coast road – much of which had cycle paths – and into Mike's village. Mike and Rhona weren't flying in until late that night so we parked up outside the Mairie and Gendemarie and cooked ourselves a hot and sour vegetable soup before getting lost pushing our bikes up the very steep hill to Mike’s villa.

We spent five lovely days in one of the most luxurious homes I have ever been in, built on the side of the hill overlooking the sea with landscaped gardens, infinity swimming pool and tennis court. Understated glamour all around, all rooms with access to the garden and the view or to a balcony and the view, all with en-suite and all big enough to be a master bedroom in their own right.

Slumming it at Mike's.

Of course the house would have been just a house without Mike and his more than generous hospitality. He couldn’t have been kinder or more considerate and in fact the only down side was it was so good to be there it made it extremely hard to leave. But, having spent a lovely few days with all our friends, leave we had to.

We continued up the coast to Antibes where we couch surfed again – this time with Yves and his family. It’s a pity we only were there one night as we didn’t have much chance to chat and get to know them but they had a beautiful home with the most amazing garden that in another life Bridget would have died for – full of fruit trees, Lemons, Oranges, Fig, and many more. It was a garden I have promised Bridget when we win the lottery – either when we move abroad as a result of our good fortune or when I build her an orangery at our lotto mansion in England.

Yves and me

Yve’s was our eighth night in a real bed and when we left Antibes and reached Italy it was back to camping each night – though sadly because of the nature of the countryside not wild camping. Italian campsites we have found are generally of a different standard and type to those in France and we feel, for what you get, extremely expensive. But beggars rather than choosers sleep where they can and much more quickly than anticipated we arrived in Liguria just around the corner from Tuscany and our first planned stop off point Lucca.

TUSCANY

There really is no excuse. Well actually there is when the option is to spend time writing the blog or to wander around another beautiful Tuscan town. We are now at San Gimignano. Stunning. In fact so special it looks more like something from a film with all its special effects to make it appear as if was still the 16^thc. We have spent a day longer here than planned as Bridget hurt her knee getting here – we think when she allowed the bike to topple over on to her having stopped and lost her balance slightly – and we haven’t been to Voltera yet as we were going to cycle there. Instead we took a day trip to Siena which was stunning if brief. We are returning to Siena on the way back north once we have been to Pompeii so today was a taster really. Tomorrow we ride (Bridget’s knee allowing) to Cortona – a small village north of the town to be precise where we are due to couch surf with a photo journalist. And then as we couldn’t find anyone to couch surf with in Siena we are heading to Pompeii which we think will take about 10 days. Then the Amalfi coast and back north via Siena and on to Florence.

I think I need to play catch pretty quickly now as I will be so far behind and my memory being what it is I won’t be able to give much useful info anyway. Having left Spain behind and said hello to France we made excellent progress – how wonderful flat roads felt – to Carcassonne. At the time I remember being fairly impressed with the structure of the Cite but quite disappointed with the tackiness of it all. Very Disney and very chocolate box. Now in hindsight having visited Lucca, St Gimignano. and Siena I am even more disappointed. It was something, having read Labrynthe, I was really looking forward too. The consolation of course is that at least we didn’t pay for a flight to get there or book an expensive hotel.

Having spent a couple of days in Carcassonne – partly to help my sore ankle recover – we left thinking it would be really great to cycle along the Canal du Midi – something the woman in the tourist office said was quite straightforward. We lasted a morning at best. It was beautiful but a route best used by single track mountain bikers or day trippers, not touring cyclists with up to 30 kg of weight in their panniers. There were rocks, roots and gravel all of which made it extremely bumpy and it was very narrow. Combine these together and my fear of falling into the canal wasn’t as fanciful as it might seem. So we soon left the canal side and took the road which pretty much followed the same route and was equally picturesque but unfortunately not as sheltered. We laboured into an extremely strong head wind. (We found out later it was 40 kpmh but it was a mere trifle when compared to the following day when we contended with a 40kpmh side wind) Even so by the end of the day we were able to re-join the canal where the tow path had been tarmaced (sp?) and bombed the last 10 kms or so to the coast where we found a lovely campsite and a kindly woman behind the desk, who, when we told her what we were doing, took pity on us and only charged us 10 euro for the night.

Now by the end of the next day we had reached what I thought was really a kind of Milton Keynes on Sea. La Grande Motte I am sure is very popular in summer and has lovely beaches and great kite surfing and sailing and such etc but really in late spring has nothing to offer the cycle tourist other than a choice of campsites and a supermarket. We had had such a hard day by the time we arrived that we were relieved just to find somewhere to pitch and go to bed. If only we had been able to struggle on about 10 km more we would have reached the delightful Aigues Mortes on the edge of the Carmargue and would have enjoyed weathering out the storm that was to arrive the following day. Instead we endured a day in La Grande Motte where according to the woman in the tourist office (they do always seem to be women) there was absolutely no indoor entertainment of any kind. The only plus side was free wifi access in the tourist office where I am sure we outstayed our welcome – sitting drenched to the bone surfing the web in the corner where there was access to the only power point.

It is strange how thinks work out and so often in combination – bad with bad, good with good. We had the hardest day of the trip by far getting to La Grande Motte. We cycled all day along the coast buffeted by the wind as it blew in hard from the sea, struggling to get much above 10 kmph even though we were on the flattest roads so far, struggling to keep our balance and having to contend with heavy traffic and the biting sand as it flew in off the beaches. By the end of the day we were just glad to be off our bikes but would have been so much happier if we had landed up somewhere even half pleasant. Had there been no wind we would have easily made it to Aigues Morte and the good would have been mixed with the good. But no we ended up in La Grande Motte – ugly, depressing and unsatisfying – insult added to injuries in bucket loads (of sand). And then of course we were forced to stay an extra day there because of the storm that followed the wind and that part of the French coast was forever blighted in my memory and cast aside to the never visit again pile.